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“I told you, if you were good you could pick the music,” he said with a smirk. “And I am a man of my word, as you know, so go ahead, champ. Have at it.”
I smugly smiled, feeling like the truck was only slightly spinning, but I wasn’t sure if that was because of the alcohol, or because the way Dawson was looking at me was making me seriously debate going full bad boy and straddling his lap right here.
My desires, my thoughts, my actions... everything was a hazy blur stirring within me like some cyclone.
But I managed to keep from falling apart at the seams, languidly moving forward to gently twist the knob until I’d found a station I liked, which was playing my favorite song. Hot Blooded.
Dawson shot me a look as he pulled out of the parking lot, shaking his head as I hummed along and murmured the words to myself. At least, I thought I was singing to myself.
The entire ride home was like that. Both of us singing along to the radio like two teenagers out late on a school night.
And I’d never felt so... free.
So unequivocally me.
I’d spent the majority of my life on the sidelines. By myself. My mother always said it was because I was shy, but the reality was I just wasn’t comfortable being my awkward self around most people. The world expected you to be a certain way, it classified you based on what you liked, the job you did, and the things you surrounded yourself with. I knew when people looked at me what they saw, the person they’d decided I was, and quite frankly, I didn’t see the point in trying to live up to their ideals and expectations, and I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. So, I just... didn’t open up.
But something about Dawson made me feel like for the first time, it was okay to open up. It was okay to be me.
The me who likes to bust out into song like it’s an episode of Carpool Karaoke, the me who is sarcastic, the me who is relaxed and fun, and not wound up tighter than an Egyptian mummy most of the time.
I’d barely even noticed when Dawson parked the car at the Towers. Only when the music stopped did I realize we’d been singing and laughing for nearly thirty minutes.
We both sat there in silence for a long moment, and finally, I decided to speak.
“I had... a really great time tonight,” I said, not wanting this to end.
I wanted more nights where I felt alive like I did with Dawson.
Dawson moved closer to me, turning to face me. “Me too,” he said softly, his gaze roving over me, before settling on my lips.
I scooted closer to him, until our thighs were brushing against one another.
“Dawson, I—”
It was my turn to be surprised, when Dawson reached out, setting his palm against my neck as he pulled me closer, popping one of my buttons as he slid his hand beneath my collar. I shifted my weight until I was practically in his lap. His lips moved against mine with a hunger that echoed my own, and I melted into him like an ice cube on the sidewalk on the Fourth of July.
“Fuck...” I groaned as his tongue slipped into my mouth again, my cock springing back to life.
Instinct took over, and I shifted my weight over his lap, straddling his lap with my thighs. My ass hit the steering wheel, but I didn’t care.
Dawson moved his seat back a hair to give me room, but I didn’t want room. I wanted to be as close to Dawson as I could get.
Dawson groaned in my mouth as I ground my rigid erection against his, both loving the friction and hating the barriers between us. My head was spinning.
“Nolan...” he purred, my name on his tongue stronger than any drink I’d ever had. His hand slid up my neck, fingers grasping at my hair with a tight grip, causing my cock to throb. Instinctively, I ground myself against him, needing to feel the friction.
His hands slid down my body in a rushed motion, over my hips, resting on my ass as I let my lips brush his jaw before landing over his neck. I could feel his pulse against my tongue as I licked his skin. His fingers squeezed my ass with a force that had it not been for clothes, would have left a mark. Dawson’s touch was full of fire, and I wanted to burn within it.
“Fucking hell... Nolan—”
I stifled his words with my mouth, driven by need, by desire.
Two years.
I’d been dreaming of this man for two years, fantasizing about this cock for two years.
I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want this perfect night to end.
